


Dean's Favorite Flannel

by DeansDirtyLittleSecret



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-03
Updated: 2017-12-03
Packaged: 2019-02-10 02:32:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12902070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeansDirtyLittleSecret/pseuds/DeansDirtyLittleSecret
Summary: You borrow Dean's flannel.





	Dean's Favorite Flannel

 

“What are you wearing?”

The deep, low growl came from the bottom of the stairs, the entrance to the library. You were sitting at one of the tables, bare feet propped up, a book open in front of you, a cup of coffee in your hand. You’d been up for hours, unable to sleep, too worried about the case to let your mind rest.

Startled, you sat up so quickly that your coffee sloshed over the edge of the cup and fat drops of liquid hit the notebook in your lap. You slammed your cup down on the table cursing under your breath, more coffee spilling.

“God damn it, Dean,” you snapped. “You scared me.”

“Sorry,” he grumbled, shrugging as he came up the stairs and sat on the edge of the table.

“Where’s Sam?” you asked.

“Went to get coffee,” Dean replied. “Someone drank it all.” He stared pointedly at you. “You didn’t answer my question.”

“What question?” you sighed.

“What are you wearing?” he repeated, pointing at you.

You looked down at the shirt you’d grabbed off the top of the stack of clothes folded on the table in the bathroom. It was a faded red and blue flannel, soft and warm. It had been cold when you’d climbed out of the shower, and you knew your tank top and jeans wouldn’t cut it, not in the bunker, which never seemed to be warm. So, you’d ditched the tank top and grabbed the flannel.

“A flannel?” you answered, not exactly sure what he was asking.

“It’s my flannel,” Dean said.

“Dean, you have like twenty flannels,” you sighed. “How do you know it’s yours?”

“I know,” he replied. “That one’s my favorite. So give it back.”

He was smirking, that goddamn smirk that drove you nuts, and made you want him all at the same time. The two of you had been doing this dance for months, back and forth, flirting constantly, one or both of you getting close to admitting you had feelings for each other before dancing away again. Only Dean could send you to the height of sexual frustration with just a look. You could only hope you did the same thing to him.

You rose slowly to your feet, kicking the chair back with one foot, turning slowly to face Dean. You unbuttoned the top two buttons of the flannel, your eyes never leaving Dean’s as you grabbed the hem of the shirt and slowly peeled it off, leaving you in nothing but an old bra, torn and frayed around the cups, one strap barely hanging on by a thread, the other with a couple of tears in the seams. You tossed the shirt at him, aiming for his face.

Dean caught it with one hand, dropped it to the floor, and before you could blink, he was standing in front of you. “What are you doing, Y/N?” he murmured.

“You wanted your shirt back,” you answered, hands on your hips, glaring at him. “So, I gave it back.”

“Are you telling me I just have to tell you what I want and you’ll give it to me?” His voice was low, sultry, irresistible.

“Y-yes,” you stammered. You swallowed around the lump that had risen in your throat. “What do you want, Dean?”

He cocked one eyebrow and took a step closer, leaving no space between you whatsoever. One arm slid around your waist, his hand warm on your back. He pulled you against him, leaning over you and pressing his lips against your ear. 

“I want you, Y/N.”

Your fell back at step, or you tried to, but Dean had you in a vise grip. His lips slid down the edge of your jaw and then he was kissing you, soft and gentle at first, feeling you out, figuring out if this was what you wanted. When you wrapped a hand around the back of his neck and pushed up on your toes, your mouth opening to take him in, he moaned, the kiss shifting, his need and hunger for you breaking free. His hand moved down your back to your ass, tugging you tight against him, his half-hard cock pressing into your lower belly. It was your turn to moan, your hand pushing between your bodies, palming him.

“I want you, too, Dean,” you whispered.

“Yeah?”

You were nodding, taking his hand in yours, walking backwards through the library, pulling him into the hallway. You led him to your bedroom, hurrying, afraid if you paused for even a second that Dean would change his mind, come to his senses, beg off with some excuse.

Except you didn’t have to worry, because Dean was all over you the second you crossed the threshold. He kicked the door closed with his foot and pushed you toward the bed. You fisted your hands in his t-shirt, pulling him down on the bed, twisting at the last second so he was beneath you, both of you laughing as he landed with a loud ‘oof’ sound. He caught your head in his hands, and then he was kissing you, a kiss that had you breaking out in goosebumps and gasping with need.

“You okay, Y/N?” he chuckled, breaking off the kiss to look at you, a wicked grin on his face. 

“No,” you grinned. “You’re wearing too many clothes.”

Dean seemed to take that as a challenge, because within seconds he was on his feet and down to nothing but his boxers, standing in front of you grinning. You followed suit, rising to your knees on the bed as you worked off your jeans and unhooked your bra, letting it slide down your arms to fall on the floor. When you reached for your panties, Dean stopped you with a hand on your wrist.

You held your breath as Dean’s fingers brushed over your underwear, teasing you. You wrapped your arms around him; he was warm, his heat instantly surrounding you, chasing away the chill. You kissed his bare chest, your tongue flicking out to briefly lick first one nipple, than the other. You slipped your hands into the front of his boxers, taking him in both hands, sighing as you felt his length hardening even more at your touch.

“Jesus Christ, Y/N,” he groaned, his hands in your hair, fingers twisted in the strands, holding you as he kissed you again.

“You don’t know how long I’ve wanted this,” you whispered. “Wanted you.”

Dean nodded, trailing kisses over your collarbone, up your neck to your lips. He climbed on the bed beside you, the two of you falling back onto it, lips and hands everywhere. His hand was between your legs, his fingers stroking your clit, drawing breathy, needy gasps from you. Two thick digits slipped inside of you, gently caressing your inner walls as his mouth moved over your neck and shoulders, sucking, biting, marking you.

You smoothed your hand along Dean’s length, your thumb brushing lightly over the tip. He sighed as you massaged him, two fingers wrapped around the base of his cock, squeezing gently. He groaned, a deep growl rumbling from deep in his chest.

He pulled your leg over his hip, lining himself up with your entrance, slowly entering you, giving you time to adjust to his substantial size. He moved slowly, teasing you, each thrust driving you insane with need. You wanted him deep inside of you, every inch of him filling you, taking you. You grabbed him, your hands cupping his ass, your fingers digging in, pulling him into you until he was fully seated.

Dean pressed his forehead to yours, holding the back of your head with one hand as he kissed you. You could feel his desperation, his need and want for you, everything he’d been holding back was in that one kiss.

You gasped as his hips suddenly snapped up to meet yours, his cock brushing against your sweet spot as he thrust into you, hard, arms around you, still kissing you. You rocked against him, moaning and whimpering as you felt your orgasm building. Dean’s hand slid between your bodies, easily finding your clit, two fingers circling it, quickly sending you over the edge as he continued to slam into you, the orgasm blindsiding you, sending you reeling, your body on fire, every nerve ending alive with pleasure, the intensity of it overwhelming you. 

His thrusts became more erratic as his own climax grew closer, his hips pumping fast and hard, holding you tight, bruisingly tight, grunting as he came. When it was over, Dean held you, keeping you close, encompassed in his arms, neither of you wanting to let the other go. He finally rolled away with a satisfied grunt, a pleased smile on his face.

“How long?” he asked, turning his head to look at you.

“A few months,” you replied. “You?”

“Since the day I met you,” he shrugged.

“Seriously?” You were shocked, unable to believe he’d wanted you that long. “Why didn’t you say something? Do something?”

“I was waiting for you to do something,” Dean chuckled.

“We’re a couple of idiots,” you shook your head. “All that time wasted.”

Dean rolled to his side, his head propped on his hand, the other hand splayed across your stomach. He leaned over you, his lips on your neck, wrapping around your pulse point, sucking.gently. He rolled you to your back and nestled himself between your legs.

“Thank God I borrowed that flannel,” you giggled, pecking him on the lips. “Should have done it sooner.”

“What else of mine have you stolen?” he asked. “I might want it back. Later.” His fingers drifted up your stomach to your breasts, his thumb tracing the nipple, before taking it in his mouth, suckling it gently, not stopping until you were moaning and writhing with need.

“We’ve got a lot of time to make up for,” he murmured, his hands drifting up your side. “Lots and lots of time.”

“Hmm, amen to that,” you sighed, your back arching, your hands on his neck, pulling him down to kiss you. “Now, let’s get started on making up for lost time, what do you say?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Dean answered.


End file.
